


Should the worst come to pass

by stitchcasual



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Feels, Fix-It, Garrus Vakarian is the best bro, Mass Effect 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-03-10
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/pseuds/stitchcasual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a lot that happened in Mass Effect 3 that just didn't do justice to the relationship that Thane and Shepard forged in Mass Effect 2. So this is my way of fixing it. Not saving Thane or adding anything else to the events of ME2, all that has been done by defter hands than mine, but creating and modifying moments that DID happen so that they better reflect the great emotionality and depth that came with this ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaah, my first fic! This is terrifying and exciting. I'm not sure how many chapters will be included in this, but probably 7? Ish.
> 
> This first chapter is an intro to the Shepard who romanced Thane so that you get a picture of her before we dive into anything else.

Thane,

I know you may never read this. Chances of Alliance brass allowing me to send it are slim, and even if I could, I don’t know where you are. Or even if you’re still alive... But it needs to be said. At this point I suppose it’s more therapy than anything else. So here goes.

You were always generous with me, sharing your time, your tea, and your self. I was never so generous, at least not with myself. So unless you managed to steal whatever dossier Cerberus had on me, or con Chambers into letting you see it, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know. I have to believe that you wouldn’t think any less of me for what I’ve done, but I couldn’t take that chance then. You were my anchor, Thane, and I couldn’t lose that.

I didn’t grow up with a family. I never had parents who loved me as yours did. (I know we disagreed about that in the past but I’m willing to concede the point. It seems like a petty argument now.) All I had in my life were the Reds and with that kind of childhood you grow up rough. Callous and calloused. Other people don’t really matter; they’re just a means to an end. I’d fight like hell to protect people who were useful to me, and I’d run at the first sign of trouble if they weren’t. That kind of life doesn’t net you many friends, and the ones you have you can never trust, not really. 

I did a lot of things I’m not proud of now in service to people I needed something from: food, money, protection. And others did the same for me. I’m sure you saw a lot of that in your line of work, with kids like Mouse. I saw a lot of myself in him, actually.

But I wasn’t stupid. I knew getting out of the cities, out of the Tenth Street Reds, would dramatically improve my chances of survival. I enlisted as soon as I could at 18. I probably could have joined up earlier, but I didn’t want to take the chance of being discovered too young and getting kicked out. Then I’d really be stuck with the Reds, and their rank-climbing doesn’t provide nearly the opportunities the Alliance does.

I was a fantastic Marine, an even better N candidate. Once I learned how to take orders, anyway. And if I was driven and focused on results, they couldn’t fault me for enthusiasm. But it was the kind of enthusiasm that has no joy behind it, the kind they call ruthless determination. I didn’t care about the journey: I cared about the end. I did whatever it took to fulfill my missions and a lot of good people were injured or died because of it. Because of me. But I got results and the Alliance likes results.

My unit was sent to Torfan. I’m sure wherever you were in the galaxy even you heard about Torfan. We were sent to drive out the Batarians. I extinguished them. The ones who fought back, the ones who fled, the ones who surrendered. I sent my unit after them all, and though I lost three-quarters of my Marines, I deemed it worth it to wipe out the Batarian threat. My commanding officer didn’t see it that way. He was eventually discharged because he couldn’t handle the loss of so many Marines. Me? I got promoted to the Normandy several years later.

That was my turning point. Not the Normandy, though she did turn my life around in many ways, but Torfan. Being the Butcher of Torfan. Butcher of Batarians and Butcher of my own men. They say names can’t hurt you. They’re full of shit, whoever they are.

I had my reputation as a cold, ruthless bitch, and that was all I had. In some ways, fleeing to the Alliance wasn’t any different from staying with the Reds. I didn’t have any friends and no one wanted to be associated with me. It had never hurt before, but being alone inside an organization famed for its camaraderie has a funny way of changing the way you look at things. So I tried to change. I tried to reply with compassion instead of anger when someone spoke to me. I’m sure it was as strange for them as it was for me. It wasn’t something I was used to and I failed a lot in the first few years. I still fail. I know you noticed, during our conversations in Life Support, how I sometimes took a few minutes to respond to something you’d said. Those were all moments where my first instinct was to make fun of whatever you’d said or lash out as if you’d accused me of something or do something else as equally as cold and cruel. I’m sure you remember those times better than I do. It was important to me then that I not do anything to jeopardize what we were building, that you not see me as I was.

I realize that may be a ridiculous notion. Maybe you saw through me the whole time. If you did, though, you never said anything. That’s probably for the best.

I never told you, but you intrigued me from the beginning. I didn’t understand why Cerberus would recommend I recruit an assassin for my suicide mission, though I knew your skills would be valuable. (And I have a tendency to get along with snipers, I suppose.) I don’t think I believed that anyone raised from childhood to be an assassin could join a squad like the one I was putting together, probably because I still doubted my own ability to command such a group.

I’m glad you proved me wrong. 

I’m glad you helped show me that I was wrong about myself. At least, wrong about that. I proved myself right about other things at Aratoht. Whatever I am these days, I am still the Butcher. You can’t tell me that’s not true; you saw what I did. I tell myself I did what I had to, sacrificed 305,000 lives so that trillions of others could have the chance to be saved. This sort of ruthless calculus is what the Alliance needs me for. Easier to get the Butcher to do it than taint another officer. She’s already dirty. What will one more matter? they think. 

Plenty. It matters plenty.

I know you wanted to be here with me while I wait to be tried. We both know it’s better you aren’t, a man of your reputation. I’m not allowed visitors anyway. I need to be here, need to answer for Aratoht. If I don’t… I can’t become that person again, Thane. There must be consequences.

…

I’m sorry, I’ve gotten off track. It’s easier to do that these days, nothing else to occupy my mind. I’m still trying to be better than I was, be worthy of the love you showed me. Easier some days than others.

There’s this Marine here, looks up to me, idolizes me. He’s stationed on my door most days. I think he deliberately pulls short straw, or however it is they choose my guards. Knows what I’ve done, the non-classified, non-personal stuff anyway, still thinks I’m the greatest thing in the Alliance. Sometimes I kick his ass in hand-to-hand when they let me out for PT. My way of trying to get him to douse his fire, I guess. I don’t think it’s working. He salutes me, Thane, and I don’t deserve it.

Maybe one day they’ll let me out of here, once I’ve been tried and served my sentence. I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself if the Alliance won’t have me. They might be forced to kick me out for my actions at Aratoht. I wouldn’t blame them. But fighting, in one way or another, is all I’ve ever known, and I don’t imagine I’ll land anywhere good after my fall with a record like mine. Don’t suppose you’ll be alive that long, considering...

I wish I could see you again, hold you, talk to you. You always knew what to say to me when I needed it most. I need it now. But I guess I’ll just have to figure it out on my own now.

Take care of yourself, Thane. For my sake.

Shepard


	2. Picture Frames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the flight to the Citadel after the disastrous mission at the Mars Archives, Shepard finds something new in her cabin.

They flew to the Citadel. Kaidan lay in the medbay, EDI watching over him even as she assisted Joker in the cockpit. Liara gently but firmly steered Shepard to her cabin, depositing the newly reinstated Commander onto the bed. It was a testament to how much the last few hours had taken out of her that Shepard simply sank back onto the bed without removing her armor, staring blankly at the stars outside the ceiling.

Liara crossed her arms, watching the Commander for a moment. That armor had to come off and be cared for; Lieutenant Vega in the shuttle bay could probably see to that since it looked like Shepard wouldn't be able to. The asari sighed, running a hand across her scalp. It was up to her to take care of the Commander, then, at least for a little while. Goddess knew Shepard had done the same for her years ago.

She busied herself with the buckles and straps on Shepard’s armor, taking off one piece at a time and piling them carefully next to the bed. “EDI, please ask Lieutenant Vega to retrieve Commander Shepard's armor for maintenance. It will be outside her door.”

“Understood, Doctor.”

Liara pulled out Shepard's drawers and rummaged around for something more suitable than the bodysuit she wore under her armor. Dress blues wouldn't do… At least the Cerberus uniforms had been removed… Wait, Shepard owned a dress..? That was sure to be an interesting story, one she meant to hear when Shepard was back to herself. As she was about to give up, her fingers brushed something soft. 

“Sit up, Commander,” she ordered, pulling the other woman up. Off went the under armor, on went the long-sleeved hooded sweatshirt, striped down the arm like the armor she'd just removed. Shepard blinked owlishly, lifting first one arm than the other, staring curiously at the garment.

“What the hell is this?” she asked, shaken from her stupor. 

“I found it in your clothing, Shepard.”

“Huh… OK, I guess.” She smiled slightly at Liara. “Thanks for kicking my ass.”

“Of course, Shepard. Now, unless I’m mistaken, I believe you can take care of yourself from here?” Shepard nodded and Liara smiled, turning to climb the short stairs. “I recommend a shower and--” Here she paused as she looked toward Shepard’s desk. “Perhaps you should check your messages.” 

Liara left the cabin, waiting until the door shut behind her to raise a hand to her mouth and close her eyes for several moments. Only when she was sure she was composed again did she walk to the elevator.

\----------

“I did _not_ get this from Cerberus…so where the hell did it come from?” Shepard wondered aloud, still raising her arms one at a time to stare at her new hoodie. She’d ask EDI about it later, she decided. The AI should have kept a record of all Alliance personnel who were granted access to her cabin while the Normandy was grounded and retrofit. In the meantime, that shower Liara mentioned was sounding pretty good. She could feel sand from Mars grinding around underneath her pants and socks. “Ugh.”

Standing, she shed every piece of clothing she still had on, though she tossed the hoodie toward the bathroom while everything else went in a heap near the closet. She passed the empty fish tank to lock her cabin door, just in case, then turned, her mind already under the plunging water from the showerhead. And she stopped, not even registering the blinking light on her terminal, but staring at the frame someone had left on her desk. The frame filled with a picture of Thane.

It was one she’d never seen before, not that there were many pictures of the drell assassin to begin with. Occupational hazard. He wasn’t looking at the camera but somewhere to his right, an oh-so-small smile on his lips, as if he were viewing something mildly amusing. Light from an unseen source played over the darker patch of scales on his head.

Slowly, Shepard walked toward the desk, her eyes not leaving the frame for an instant. She picked it up in shaking fingers, a tear making its way down her cheek. She sank to the floor. Clutched the frame tightly to her chest. And cried.

“Oh, Thane.” She’d have to find out who put this in her cabin and punch them...and then hug them for being so damned thoughtful. It was a long time before she made it to the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated that the relationship with Thane somehow didn't warrant a picture on Shepard's desk. So here's EDI and Joker being thoughtful and getting Shepard a picture of Thane to go along with the hoodie they picked up.


	3. Memorial Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fixes Garrus' dialogue when you meet him at the memorial wall after the Citadel coup and Thane's death. It always rubbed me the wrong way that he never mentioned anything about Thane EVER. Even when not a love interest, Thane was still a part of the crew from ME2 and with a death that you CAN'T AVOID (thanks BioWare) it doesn't make sense to not have at least a throwaway line about it. Come on.

Shepard found Garrus staring at the memorial wall on the crew deck. The names of her crew from the Normandy SR-1 glinted dully on their matte plaques. Ashley’s name was there too, along with Zaeed and Tali. She’d never forgive herself for causing their deaths at the Collector base. And then…

Her hand stretched out to touch the new plaque. _Thane Krios._

“Shepard,” Garrus greeted. “Hell of a day.”

“Hell of a day,” she agreed, hand falling to her side. They stood in silence for a while, Shepard staring at Thane’s name, Garrus’s gaze falling near, was that Tali’s? She hadn’t realized. A fresh wave of guilt turned her stomach to acid and she lowered her eyes. 

“Don’t.” Garrus’ voice stopped her as she realized she’d taken a step backward, toward the elevator. “You made the tough call, Shepard, it’s what you do. Tali knew what she was getting into. They all did. So quit blaming yourself.”

“Will you ever stop blaming yourself for your team on Omega?” she returned quietly. Garrus hmmmed deep in his harmonics but didn’t say anything. She’d seen the names carved into the side of his visor. Had never asked him about it because she didn’t need to. She understood. She knew by heart each of the names on this wall but she still paused every time she passed it to pay her respects. It was the least they deserved.

“I’m sorry about Krios. He was a tough bastard.”

Garrus had come with her on that fateful mission, covering her down the halls of C-Sec as she charged one Cerberus squad after another, sniping any enemies left standing too close after her nova blast depleted her barriers. He sensed the urgency in her movements, saw the tension in her neck each time Thane’s voice came over the coms. Had seen the moment all the fight drained out of her as the drell collapsed against the wall, bleeding and ragged; had seen seconds later the set of her jaw as she willed herself to keep moving despite everything.

She had turned down his offer to accompany her to Huerta, and he knew what it meant that she was back on board the Normandy already rather than in a hospital waiting room. Gently he placed one of his taloned hands on her small, human shoulder. Shepard turned, smiled crookedly at him, and whispered, “thank you.”

“Any time, Shepard. And if you ever need someone to drink you under the table, let me know. I am glad Cerberus decided a bar was a worthwhile installation on a frigate. Remind me to send them a thank you note.” Shepard snorted.

“You’re right,” Garrus continued. “Best not stir up that particular hornet’s nest. Yet. We’ll get our chance at retribution, Shepard.”

“I hope you’re right, Garrus. Because I need to take down that assassin _and_ Cerberus and make sure they can’t hurt any more of my friends.” Her voice lowered until it was almost a growl by the end, and Garrus flicked his mandibles in assent.

“Shepard… If it had come down to it, could you have pulled the trigger?”

“On Kaidan?” She shook her head. “I don’t see how. We start killing our friends and war turns into murder.”

“But it doesn’t always give us the easy way out, does it?” They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their individual responsibilities heavy in their minds. Ruthless calculus. “At least Kaidan didn’t have to join Ash.”

Shepard reached her hand out and touched Ashley’s name plate. “Let’s hope she’s looking out for us. This was her fight too.” Garrus hummed in agreement and Shepard leaned against his armored shoulder.

“Ashley Williams,” he rumbled eventually. “Patron saint of small arms and ammunitions.”

“Amen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY ABOUT TALI she died that run through and I thought the symmetry between Garrus and Shepard was too good there to bring her back :(((


End file.
